


Amidst Thieves

by acricketschirp



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Explicit Language, F/M, and some fluff, some slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:45:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10026452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acricketschirp/pseuds/acricketschirp
Summary: small disjointed glimpses into the steadily evolving relationship of the dragonborn and everyone's favorite thief (alternatively titled: Sorry lass I've got more important things to do)





	

**Author's Note:**

> been awhile since I've stretched my fanfic muscles, here goes nothin'

Mostly Rylan found herself annoyed in the first couple weeks of joining the Thieves’ Guild. After the initial task with Brynjolf, she found that most of the guild (which was in fact approximately six people) were stuck-up assholes. That wasn’t something she would’ve expected from the riff-raff of the city, especially since they were apparently on hard times. While Rylan was still young and somewhat green in the whole thieving business, she didn’t think clinging to past glory was the way to go about rebuilding.

She made the mistake of telling Brynjolf and Mercer this, and almost got her head chewed off by one or the other. It was hard to tell when they were both yelling.

“Where did you find this upstart, Brynjolf?” Mercer finally asked and it was enough for Rylan to determine she wasn’t too fond of Mercer. She decided that someone that uptight must have a chronic case of stick up the ass.

“Give her a chance, Mercer, she’s got natural talent.” The redhead sent a glare her way, and she grimaced at him, before directing her attention to the patterns the water was casting on the ceiling. She kept her ears open to take in what they were talking about, but mostly her mind wandered.

She wanted a nap before she did whatever else they needed.

Eventually they sent her Vex’s way, and she left gladly, a hand to her mouth as she blocked a yawn. She caught Mercer saying something decidedly unkind, but pretended like she didn’t hear it, just steeled herself for being talked down to and bossed around some more.

 

By the time she left the Ragged Flagon, she wanted to shake Vex until the woman figured out how to talk like a polite, decent human being. She’d bitten back her responses, like _‘Gods above and below Vex, I don’t give a shit about if you’re the best infiltrator or not’_ or ‘ _Your arrogance is physically_ choking _me_.’ But it had been at the price of her poor tongue.

While Rylan knew the advantage to listening to experience and she really did take in everything, everyone suggested, the flagrant suspicion and dislike was wearing.

In the way that the amount of bears in Skyrim was wearing.

It was also oddly motivating.

Rylan tried to focus on that. At least it helped that Delvin was a hilarious son of a bitch, who was much more the salt of the earth and practical type than the others. He put her at ease again and made her decide to do a good job at Goldenglow after all.

(It didn’t hurt to see the expression on Vex’s face when she returned triumphantly without so much as a scratch on her)

 

“I don’t like Maven.” Brynjolf blinked at her, seeming unable to come up with an answer to this statement, “I don’t want to talk to her.”

“You don’t have a choice.” He finally sputtered out, utterly bemused at the Breton.

“You can talk to her and tell me what she wants, but I don’t like her. I think she’s shady and considers herself above everyone.” Brynjolf managed to get his thoughts back together after another moment of stunned silence, before turning a glare down at her.

“You’re going to talk to her, lass, if I have to drag you up there myself.”

“Absolutely not.” Rylan crossed her arms at this, glaring right back at the Nord now, despite him being easily over a foot taller than her.

“You do what I say and I say you’re going to go talk to her.”

“And I say you’re dangerously close to joining Mercer in the stick-up-the-ass club.”

“ _Rylan_.” His voice was low and dangerous, but gods help her she’d already found that she _liked_ irritating him.

“ _What_?”

“I swear by the Nine if you don’t get up there right now, I’m going to kick you out of here.”

“Listen, you’re the one that recruited me, it’s no skin off my back.” As long as they didn’t kill her instead of kicking her out, she meant it, and she waited expectantly as a color very similar to his hair rose to his face. She marveled at the likeness.

After a moment, he closed his eyes, a hand to his temple. He breathed in and out a couple times, and still she waited patiently.

“Alright, lass, here’s the deal.” He met her gaze levelly, “I’ll pay you to go talk with Maven.” Rylan’s mouth twisted, somewhat interested despite herself.

“How much?”

“500 now, 500 after you finish the mission.” She bit back her delighted grin, merely gave him a nod.

“Deal.” Once she had the money in her pocket, she clapped him on the shoulder, “I knew you were a reasonable sort.”

“And you’re a disrespectful gutter rat, now get out of my sight.”

“That’s not an appropriate thing to call a young lady.” She called over her shoulder, almost laughing at his muffled groan.

 

Delvin told her she shouldn’t stir Brynjolf up so much, because he might drown her scrawny ass. Rylan was kind of curious to see if he actually _could_.

 

“Mercer’s angry, so I wouldn’t waste any time here.” Rylan raised an eyebrow at the Nord.

“What makes you think that him being angry makes me want to rush?” He closed his eyes, and massaged his temples and she knew that was becoming a more common action because of her. She’d already mentally named it the Rylan effect.

“Rylan, I’m going to count to three and if you’re not on your way to go see him I can’t guarantee I won’t throw you over my shoulder and take you there myself.” Rylan cocked her head at him, examining the redhead in such a thorough way he forgot to start counting.

“What?” he snapped finally.

“When was the last time you were out on the field, Brynjolf?”

“What does that matter?” he asked, bewildered with what to do with her. She had talent, talent enough to bring the whole guild back up on its feet if she would just _listen_. Though he couldn’t help but admire how truly unimpressed she was with this whole affair.

“Just answer the damn question.”

“A month, two? I don’t know.”

“I think you need to hit something.” He didn’t even respond, and she stretched out her arms above her head, “Come on then. Let’s spar.”

“Rylan, will you please just go talk to Mercer?” he asked, trying to keep desperation from tinging his words.

“Fine,” he almost collapsed in relief until she finished her sentence, “but I want to spar with you afterwards.”

“I don’t have time.”

“Come on, Brynjolf, don’t you want the opportunity to knock me on my ass?”

“Fine. Just go.” He said it partially to just get her out of his hair, though he couldn’t deny the appeal of putting the snarky Breton on the ground. She gave him a bright smile that he had to pretend wasn’t as charming as an autumn’s day, before turning on her heel and all but cavorting down the hallway.

 

It was an entirely different creature that came storming into the training room that night, all but ripping her hood off her head and flinging it against the wall.

“He is the most obnoxious, arrogant, piece of shit boss I have ever had. Talos’ _balls_.” He tried not to be amused, but it was hard when it was perhaps the first time he’d ever seen her as ruffled as she got him sometimes.

“Yeah?” was all he said, surprised at the ferocity in her eyes as she snapped her gaze back to him. Brynjolf couldn’t help but think of an ice wolf.

“Are you still up for sparring?” He was surprised she’d even bother to ask, and even more surprised to think that even if he said no she’d let it go.

“If I wasn’t, you’d go get yourself thrown in jail. Come on, lass.” Even though he was prepared for her to hit a lot harder than regular sparring would typically call for, he was still surprised the first time the skinny Breton landed an uppercut right into his sternum. He realized as she darted away, all but dancing on her feet, that it had been awhile since he’d gotten to exercise like this. The spiky little Breton though was a whirlwind of fists and feet, her red-blonde hair trailing behind her like a sunset on water. He was even more surprised he was enjoying himself as the minutes stretch into the night.

Even if it had been awhile since he was out in the field, he had more stamina than she did, especially as her anger wore out. She overreached just slightly with one of those high kicks of hers, and he stepped in close. He saw her eyes widen as he was only inches from her then, before her legs were out from underneath her and she was gasping in the hay set on the floor to soften the impact of falls.

“I think I won.” He said, not disguising his grin. In reply, she slammed her leg behind his knees and he found himself on the floor as well, with the Breton pinning down his shoulders with her knees as she perched on his chest.

“Not on your life.” She got out, and he saw the satisfied gleam back in her eyes.

“You got me, lass.” It didn’t sting as much as he thought it would to admit defeat to her.

“I know. You’re out of practice.”

“Still almost got you.” He pointed out, not sure what to do as she leaned back against his legs, still maintaining her position on top of him.

“I was mad. Doesn’t count.”

“You gonna get off me anytime soon?” he asked, wondering if perhaps she’d forgotten.

“No. I’ve got a question for you.” He had the brief thought that the Breton was weird, but he didn’t argue, just hoped that no one would come into the training room. He didn’t feel like explaining why the new recruit was sitting on top of him nonchalantly.

“And?” he asked, pulling some hay into a pillow shape before leaning his head back against it.

“Why is Mercer in charge?”

“Planning a coup?” she shook her head.

“No, nothing of the sort. It’s an honest question, I’d like an honest answer.”

“He’s smart. A strategist and an excellent thief. Ideal for leadership.”

“He doesn’t have any kind of compassion, I don’t think.”

“Are you looking for compassion in the midst of thieves?” He hadn’t expected this answer.

“Thieves are still humans. We still care about each other if nothing else. He doesn’t care one way or another who may or may not die. I don’t find that ideal.”

“He’s the only thing that’s been holding this Guild together ever since we hit our rough patch. You need to be tough to do that.”

“Maybe, but I get the feeling you could’ve held the guild together better.”

“Now there’s something.” He chuckled, “I didn’t think you had any kind of positive opinion of me.”

“I like you, Brynjolf. You care about this place and these people, your… bossiness comes from a good place. I don’t think his does.”

“That’s borderline treachery, you know.”

“Treachery amidst thieves? Absolutely not.” She slid off of him finally, taking a seat beside his still prostrate form. She leaned her head against his knees though and he couldn’t help but think she had no sense of personal space. Fortunately he wasn’t the type who minded that.

“Where are you from, Rylan?” She blinked in surprise, before a thoughtful look crossed her face.

“Technically? I’m from High Rock. Where in High Rock though? That’s the question. I grew up in a group of nomads. We didn’t stay anywhere more than a couple months.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“I… left. None of them wanted to venture this far north. But I was curious.” She rolled her eyes, “I wonder if it’s all been worth it.”

“Do you not like Skyrim?”

“On the contrary, I love it. It’s cold as ass, but it’s beautiful. It just seems like I haven’t managed to land on any good luck since coming up here.” She shook her head with a grimace, “My first experience was getting flung into a horsecart with Ulfric Stormcloak and some of his boys.”

“What did you do to piss the Imperials off?”

“Got caught in the crossfire of a skirmish between them and the Stormcloaks. They somehow thought I was with the Stormcloaks. Fortunately Ulfric and Ralof took care of me, didn’t let the sleazier guards get at me while I was hovering between unconsciousness and wakefulness. Or the sleazier prisoners for that matter. They’re a bit… narrow-minded, but I think they’re good souls inwardly.”

“But you don’t think Mercer is.”

“I don’t.” she said simply, “I don’t trust him and I don’t like him.”

“Well just keep doing your job, lass. Maybe he’ll lighten up if we start pulling ourselves back together.”

“Fine, but only because you asked me to.” She sat up straight then, suppressing a yawn, “At any rate you’ve worn me out. I suppose I should thank you for letting me beat up on you.”

“Anytime, Rylan.” She got to her feet, offering a hand to him. Once he was back on his feet, she walked back down the hall, and he thought that perhaps she wasn’t so bad.

 

 _I_ knew _he was an asshole_ , this seemed like an appropriate last thought, though she wished she could’ve at least rubbed it in Brynjolf’s face a little.

 

Markarth was shitty, the guards were shitty, and by every single god there was, Cidhna mine was shitty. It made Rylan see red in fact, so much so that she didn’t even care that she was going to have to make a deal with Madanoch.

But first there was the Orc. That was pretty shitty too.

Now they were brawling, tumbling across the inner cavern, with her trying to see through the blood sheeting over her eye. He had _gauntlets_.

The only reason she wasn’t dead yet was because she was agile, but even she was getting tired from sprinting and jumping, trying to get in hits when it was possible. Her shoulders ached, and her head was ringing, but then she decided she had to stop running. She had to pretend it was Brynjolf, because nothing gave her more satisfaction than putting him on the ground. Sure, the Orc was bigger than the thief, but it was still the same concept. She just had to find those precise spots that would debilitate him.

She got an advantage when he was so surprised that she’d stopped running he stumbled. Then despite her hurting muscles, it was all instinct. She ducked low, before slamming her shoulder upwards into his sternum. Then it was a matter of shoving her knee as hard as she could into the side of his thigh. The thought crossed her mind that she should’ve gone for the crotch, but that just seemed like fighting dirty. As he staggered from his useless leg, she wheeled around his back and brought her knee once more into his other leg. He crumpled and she couldn’t remember ever being so relieved.

After that it was straightforward, she helped the Forsworn get through the tunnels and then proceeded to duck into a quiet corner and let the battle of Markarth wear itself out. It only quieted around dawn, and she paused only long enough to grab a light breakfast, then hit the road.

Now all she had to do was make it across Skyrim back to Winterhold.

 

There was a night in her journey when she was in the middle of the mountains watching snow fall gently from her tent that she discovered a new emotion that was some amalgam of longing and joy that she had no name for.

 

Karliah was a nice enough lady, and Rylan thought her story was heartbreaking enough for a novel, but the idea of simply walking into the Ragged Flagon without any kind of warning made her question the dark elf’s sanity. Rylan understood that this would make it irrefutable that Mercer was a total dick, but she couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Or that’s what she assumed the fluttery feeling in her stomach and ribs was, she’d never really been the nervous type.

She trusted Karliah, but it still didn’t stop her from letting her take the lead once they entered the Cistern. Though with her luck someone would fire an arrow off, and Karliah would duck in time for Rylan to get another arrow to the gut. That didn’t seem improbable after the month she’d had. Briefly, she entertained the thought of switching to heavy armor, before she caught sight of their fellow thieves.

Of course, as soon as Brynjolf saw her, he didn’t greet her with joy that she was back and in one piece. In fact, he had the nerve to look _accusing_.

“You better have a good reason to be accompanying that murderer, Rylan.”

“You fucking asshole I-” Karliah shoved her back behind her, which was probably a good plan given how twitchy Vex’s fingers were sometimes.

“We have proof that Mercer was behind Gallus’s murder.”

“He _stabbed_ me.”

“Rylan.” Karliah reprimanded in that soft-voiced way, and the Breton subsided into a sulky silence, casting Brynjolf a nasty look. Delvin had already relaxed though, and that reassured her. She let Karliah explain everything, and went to lean against a cold, damp wall.

Truthfully, Rylan was tired. She’d been hiking through Skyrim an unreasonable amount, and she still felt queasy whenever she thought too hard about the awful scar in the middle of her torso. She felt betrayed, oddly enough, despite never having liked or trusted Mercer she hadn’t expected _this_. And she certainly hadn’t expected to come back to a guild full of untrusting eyes.

At some point she had rested her eyes, barely keeping on her feet, as exhaustion washed over her. It was as if the past month hit her all at once, and it was all she could do to not curl up on the nearest bed. There was some commotion over the vault being emptied, and she idly wondered why they were so surprised. That’d be the first place she’d go if she intended on robbing the Thieves Guild. Shortly thereafter, there was someone’s touch on her shoulder, and she opened her eyes to see Delvin.

“You doin’ alright, need a drink?”

“I don’t know if I’d make it through even one.” She chuckled, leaning against him as his arm settled around her shoulders.

“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”

“And almost dead a couple times. I’ll have to tell you about it sometime.”

“You should probably talk to Bryn, first.”

“I don’t want to talk to him. It was his idea to send me with Mercer in the first place.”

“He’s been out looking for you two, worried sick, he was.” Rylan heaved as big of a sigh as she could manage, but Delvin remained unsympathetic, “Go, you li’l’ brat.”

“Fine, but only because it’s you Delvin.” She said, ducking away from his side, and making her way across the Cistern. As she arrived at the desk, she pulled herself on top of it and sat cross-legged, now eye-level with Brynjolf.

“Finally got out in the field, huh?” she asked, perching her chin in her hand.

“Aye, not for a reason I would’ve ever wanted though.”

“Oh come on, you were a little hopeful you’d seen the last of me.”

“At first, perhaps, but it disappeared. Though when I saw you walk in with Karliah, I rethought that.”

“Well I’m sure you’re about to send me away again, so let’s get on with it shall we?” He glanced over her shoulder, looking thoughtful, before returning his gaze to her.

“I need you to go to Mercer’s house and collect any information you can about where he’s gone.”

“Wonderful.”

“It’s the last place I want to send you, lass, so I need you to be careful.”

“Listen, if him stabbing me didn’t kill me than I don’t think his house will.”

“Rylan.” He sounded as tired as she felt, and she noticed that he had shadows under his eyes to rival hers, “Karliah said you were on the edge of death, that the only reason you didn’t die is because she shot you, ironically enough.”

“Well I’ll be on my guard this time.”

“Why weren’t you on your guard before? When you were hunting down one of our most dangerous thieves?” She was taken aback by the sharp question, and he was too if his expression was anything to judge.

“The better question is why are you so worried?”

“All I need is you to tell me right now that you will be careful.” She almost opened up her mouth to dismiss him, but something stilled her tongue and made her relent.

“I promise, I’ll be careful. For myself and for you.” What surprised her was how genuinely relieved he looked as she said this.

“Thank you, lass.” She reached out and patted his chest.

“Anything for you, big guy. Now let me go ahead and deal with this, I’ll be back shortly.” Her body protested as she got off the desk, pleading with her to just _rest_ , but she needed to get this done so that Brynjolf could actually get some sleep.

“We’ll be waiting for you.” She waved at him in acknowledgement, before trotting towards the ladder and scrambling up it.

 

When she got back she fell into the nearest bed, barely aware of Rune hovering around her and keeping everyone else away. She hoped Brynjolf was sleeping too.

 

“Easy there, lass.” Vision came back slowly, hazing in and out, until finally she could make out that her head was in Brynjolf’s lap and he had a rag pressed against her head that smelled like healing potion.

“Wha’ happened…?” her voice was slurred like she was drunk, and he shushed her.

“You’re hurt, just stay down for now and hush. That big dwarven centurion slammed you into a wall.”

“Where’s… Karliah?”

“She’s scouting ahead, she should be back soon. Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?”

“I’m tired.” He bent over her, turning her head gently so she was able to see his stern gaze.

“Rylan.”

“Brynjolf.” There was a hand against her mouth then.

“It’s been enough that I’ve had to make sure you won’t injure yourself further. You’ve been thrashing around for hours now. Do me this one favor.” Her eyes were blurring the world around her, and she remembered the fever dreams that had been haunting her. Unthinkingly she was reaching then, her fingers brushing his cheek and then finding themselves in his hair, twining there.

“Like fire.” She heard herself whisper, before consciousness slipped away again.

When she woke up again, she wasn’t sure what to think. Karliah was sleeping a short distance away, and Brynjolf. Well Brynjolf had her in his lap; one arm over her legs and the other curled around her back for support. Her cheek was pressed against his shoulder, and she couldn’t possibly imagine any reason why he had her like this. She intended to ask him, but found something that was a little more alarming.

“Why isn’t there a lookout?” she knew she hadn’t asked it loudly, but he stirred all the same.

“We’re locked in pretty well.” He muttered and she decided to move onto the next question.

“Why’re you holding me?”

“You’ve had nightmares, it was the only way to keep you quiet and still.”

“Oh.” He was quiet and she thought he’d gone back to sleep, but then he let out a quiet chuckle.

“Want to hear something that I’m going to hold over your head for the rest of your life?”

“I got taken out of a fight in less than ten seconds?” she couldn’t find the strength to move yet, as her head was still buzzing slightly.

“Better.”

“Well don’t keep me in suspense.”

“You were saying my name.” Exasperation flooded her brain, and she closed her eyes.

“By the Nine. Tell me I wasn’t.”

“You were. If it makes you feel better, Karliah was gone for the worst of it. Though she did hear a couple times. Also mentioned that when she was having to hold onto you that you were saying it.”

“Well thank the gods for small mercies.”

“I think she was mostly concerned.”

“Why?”

“Other than your head injury?”

“That’s mostly healed by now.” She pointed out, and he gave a slight sigh.

“You sounded scared, panicked.”

“Wonderful and wonderfuler.”

“I do have a question though.”

“Yeah?” she asked, deciding she didn’t want to move. It was easier to hide her face like this.

“While you were in Markarth… were you in Cidhna?”

“Um yeah. Did I not mention that?”

“No. You didn’t.”

“I was only there for a couple days.” He moved then, depositing her in front of him, and she sighed. So much for avoiding awkwardness.

“How did you get thrown down in that hellhole?”

“Got involved probably where I shouldn’t have, couldn’t keep my mouth shut. They’re more underhanded than we are down in Riften. Even worse than _Maven_.”

“How far do you intend on going?” She cocked her head at this.

“What do you mean?”

“Lass, you’re dancing so close to death I can almost feel it on you. How far are you going to take that?”

“As far as I can, I suppose. It’s what we do right? Trust our luck.” He examined her with a wry twist to his lips as she pretended to be intensely interested in the ceiling. Which, to be fair, was interesting. The dwarves had been a queer folk, and perhaps a bit too technological for her.

“I’ve never worried so much for any of the guild members. They aren’t so reckless.”

“If I was too reckless, I wouldn’t make a very good thief, now would I?” she pointed out, looking back to him.

“You can be a good thief and not care if you live or die.”

“I do _like_ living, but if I die, hey that’s just the way it goes.”

“If it’s all the same to you, lass, I’d rather you live.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that.

 

Facing down Mercer was as satisfying as she’d ever thought it would be, but as the cavern filled with water and her blood was a scarlet ribbon behind her, she found that it didn’t matter so much once she realized she was alone.

 

The Twilight Sepulcher was beautiful, namely the outside of it. As Rylan examined the stream winding its way through the little hidden alcove in the mountain, she thought that she wouldn’t mind defending this place. She’d never felt any sort of loyalty or desire to follow god or daedra, but this peaceful spot seemed holy in a way that she didn’t know was possible. It was as if she could feel those that had been there before her, and it took her breath momentarily.

Then she’d gotten inside and the place was a wreck, there were ghosts everywhere, and the majority of them weren’t even _friendly_. There were tests after that, and while she did manage to get through them with general ease, she found this all pretty silly just to return a key. She thought that if it was so important the daedra prince would be more eager for it to be back.

Rylan had to admit, though, finally meeting Nocturnal was pretty cool.

 

There had been a point while they were at Irkngthand that there had been falmer on all sides of them, but Brynjolf had shunted her into a corner. Even though that was probably the only time they’d been in serious danger, she had felt safe.

 

She knew she was being quiet, and she knew that it confused Brynjolf, but she found she had nothing to say. Ever since she’d come back from the Sepulcher, it had all been strange. Really ever since she’d faced down Mercer, it had been strange. Her thoughts returned unbidden to that quiet moment underwater when she had realized Karliah and Brynjolf were already gone.

And when she had finally pulled herself out of the water, shivering and wounded, Brynjolf had already left and Karliah spoke only briefly with her. Rylan didn’t think her silence was a form of pouting, not really. In fact, she was starting to realize it might’ve been hurt, and if she was totally honest with herself she thought it mostly had to do with Brynjolf. Even if that was unbearable to even consider.

She was avoiding him though, keeping to herself, and running missions for Delvin and Vex. She didn’t spend much time at the guild, and ended up at Honeyside most nights. When she’d gotten back from returning the Skeleton Key, he’d given her the cursory ‘glad to see you’re okay’ talk, then more or less elected her guild leader and left.

She wondered if it was that. Rylan would’ve given him the title in a heartbeat, but she knew he’d never accept it. Or if he actually did want it. She, herself, was made to sit around with normal, typical people and knock back a few meads, not decide the fate of a whole guild. She’d always been a background person, and she was happiest there.

“Lass, let’s talk.” She froze, and cursed inwardly. She shouldn’t have stayed as long as she had, but she had lost track of time in her musings. She got to her feet from sitting cross-legged in front of the pool, and turned to the Nord.

“Did you need another signature?”

“No, I would just like to speak with you.”

“Well here I am. Let’s talk.” It was a smart-mouthed thing to say, but she couldn’t help it.

“I’d rather not in the middle of the guild.” Rylan had the idea to comment loudly that it was peculiar he would want to see her privately, but decided against it. No use in poking the bear.

“Where would you like to go?” she kept her tone civil and pleasant, playing the proper guildmaster.

“Come on, we’ll go to my quarters.” She half thought he was testing her, trying to elicit the old reactions, but that had lost some of its fun. Rylan wondered when she’d gotten so boring.

“Of course.” He studied her momentarily, before setting out towards his room. Why he had his own room and she, the guildmaster, didn’t was a constant source of confusion for her. Once they arrived, she was interested to see he closed the door behind them.

“I’m willing to bet 50 gold they’re all outside the door right now.” She said, half-smiling despite herself.

“They’ll be disappointed, door’s soundproof.” Rylan arranged herself on the chair by the desk, and turned to him expectantly.

“You’ve got my undivided attention, what do you need?” He didn’t answer at first, but pulled up the chair by the fire so that he was sitting in front of her.

“You have been worryingly quiet since you got back from the Sepulcher.”

“Worryingly?” she couldn’t keep the amused note out of her voice.

“It’s not like you. What happened?” Now that was the question. What _had_ happened?

“I suppose I’ve become as good of a thief as you could hope for. I do my jobs, I sign what you need me to, and I keep out from under your feet. Neither do I sass you in any way. What else would you like?” She was interested to see a hint of frustration in his eyes at this polite delivery.

“I would like to know if you’re alright. Were the tests too trying? Did you run into trouble on the way back? You’re off, lass, and it doesn’t sit well with me.” Rylan thought about drawing this out, perhaps annoying him to the point that he dropped the subject, but as she examined him for the first time in awhile she saw the tiredness and _misery_ , of all things.

“Would you like me to be perfectly honest?” she finally asked, keeping her voice even.

“I would be grateful if you were.” She had tossed one leg over the other and had her arms crossed as she weighed up how she wanted to say this. Or how petty she wanted to be, more accurately.

“You left me.” He blinked, and looked shocked of all things and Rylan found it hard to believe that he hadn’t suspected this.

“I… left you? When?” It was funny how some huge things for some were only minor details to others, she thought, but plunged forwards regardless.

“I was hurt after fighting Mercer. You and Karliah had been distracted with trying not to kill each other, but when the cave filled up I… was alone.” It had felt a little like when Mercer had stabbed her. But it had _hurt_ more.

“You weren’t injured that badly.” He said with some confusion, and it occurred to her that he didn’t think she could actually get seriously hurt.

“Couple of my ribs were cracked from the tumble down the stairs, and I’d gotten a pretty nasty wound on my back from that sword of his. Not life threatening, I suppose, but I could’ve done with a little concern.”

“Is that why you’ve been so quiet?” she was a little offended that hadn’t bothered him much.

“Then you both sent me off to go do something I had no idea how to do.”

“Neither did we.”

“I’ve been here for, what? Six months? Why was I supposed to carry the whole guild on my shoulders without help? You could’ve at least stuck around long enough to make sure I got out without drowning.” She resigned herself to full-blown pettiness at this, “Gods, I was tired, I _am_ tired. But I had to drag my ass halfway across Skyrim to fix what I didn’t even fuck up in the first place. A little gratitude or concern would’ve been nice.”

“Of course we’re thankful for what you did.” He said and she was beginning to realize this had been the last thing he’d expected, “You have brought the guild back to its feet, you’ve solved a mystery years in the making, you’ve redeemed Karliah and condemned Mercer.”

“I needed to hear this before.” She said, deciding that she was done with the conversation, because it was making her uncomfortable. He caught her arm as she stood up, following her up.

“As for concern? I thought I’d made it perfectly obvious you scare me half to death and most of my time is spent worrying about you.” She saw a gleam of realization in his eyes that she didn’t like at all, “Lass, I didn’t know you were so insecure.”

“I’m not.” She wasn’t, truthfully, which gave her pause and led to a very troubling thought. Why else would she be upset he’d done that? The answer to that question almost made her wheel around and leave anyways.

“Then, why,” his voice had gone all soft, and she felt that unfamiliar sense of nerves she still wasn’t used to, “are you avoiding me?” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them and she felt a well of despair at herself and her damn _dramatics_.

“Because you didn’t care when I killed Mercer, or when I was off in daedra land. Because you didn’t kiss me when I got back. And when I emerged from the goddamn dead with Karliah all you could think of was that I had _betrayed_ you.” There was that hand at his temples, the Rylan effect in full-swing, as she felt like she’d just committed high treason against herself.

“Oh.” And all he could say was _that_.

“I am selfish and self-serving, I know, but I’m also _alone_ and I hate it. I’m the guildmaster, the savior of the Thieves, the fucking Dragonborn, whatever _that_ means, but that’s apparently not enough for me.” What was it her mom used to say to her? _If you’re gonna dig your grave, might as well make it spectacular._ Rylan thought that perhaps that sentence was the root of all of her problems.

“And don’t even ask me why the hell I want to kiss you, because I don’t think anyone can answer that. That’s just what I want and that’s what I expected.” She looked up at the bewildered Nord, “I couldn’t tell you why I expected it either.”

“Lass, are you sure…?” he started, then trailed off, and she felt another unfamiliar emotion flare up. Embarrassment.

“It’s been a nice chat, Brynjolf, but I think I’ve explained myself enough and I need to go run a sweep job anyways.” Alarm bells were going off in her head though, and she wasn’t sure why until she felt the sting in her eyes. Her heart dropped and Rylan had never wished so fervently to be dragged into Oblivion right then and there. She needed to leave before he noticed, before he could register what he was seeing.

“Rylan? Gods, Rylan, don’t _cry_.” If she hadn’t been so distraught about her own emotional state she would’ve found the panic on his face a lot more amusing. So much for a level-headed Nightingale, the elite of the elite. She supposed that went for her too though.

“I’m going to leave now.” She said dumbly, her eyes swimming with the most inopportune tears that had ever been shed.

“Why are you crying?” his hands fluttered about her, as if he wasn’t entirely sure if he should touch her or keep to himself.

“Because you are the only person in the world to ever make me feel _embarrassed_.” She hissed out, trying to stem the tears, and failing miserably. She wished she could’ve seen well enough to smack the dumbstruck look off his face.

“Embarrassed?” His hands finally settled on grabbing her forearms, “ _No_ , lass, no I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then what the hell do you want?” she snapped, able to gain control of her voice at least.

“Right now I just want you to stop crying.”

“I’m fairly certain I want that more than you.” She retorted, finally just covering her face with her hands, out of some childish hope that he’d leave her alone, because out of sight, out of mind right? At least that was what she was aiming for. Instead, she got him heaving her to her feet, and staring right up into her tearstained face and she half considered knocking him out. She could convince him that it had all been some dream, and that he’d collapsed while he was talking to her. When she saw him grinning, it moved from half consideration to serious thought.

“Stop smiling, you _ass_.”

“Oh, lass, I never thought I’d see this.” She punched him in the shoulder at this, and he caught her wrist, before folding his arms around her and pulling her against his chest.

“I _hate_ you.” To her immense relief, though, she was starting to get a hold of herself. Though she couldn’t help but think, a little bitterly, he would attribute that to his own skills, rather than her own willpower.

“Well I think you’re a delight.” He chuckled into her hair, and she stubbornly pressed her face further into his chest to hide her bloodshot eyes. He was warm, and she felt tension leave her shoulders despite herself, and he must’ve too, because he laughed again.

“I’m sorry for not doing this sooner, lass. I hadn’t thought you needed normal human things.” She punched him lightly again, and he turned her face up to his, studying her.

“Well I do, believe it or not.” She said, glaring at him.

“I suppose that’s why you were saying my name back in Irkngthand, hm?” She looked like she was about to retort, before she shook her head with a sigh.

“I didn’t want to bring all of this up.”

“If you want me to be honest, I’m glad you did.”

“Why? So you can laugh at me?”

“There’s that.” Despite herself her eyes flickered away from him, and she could’ve kicked herself, “There’s also a lot of relief. That you were avoiding me because of hurt rather than revile.”

“I was not _hurt_.” She snapped, but she knew it was a lie and he did too, judging by the raise of his eyebrow.

“I was.”

“It was your fault anyways.” She said, returning her gaze back to his.

“What would you have suggested I do?” Rylan decided she’d had enough of this dancing around finally. She rocked up to her tiptoes, his hands still against her face, before she pulled him down to her with fingers in his hair.

“You talk too much.” She growled at him, as she drew away from him ever so slightly, but then he had closed that distance again, taking her back a couple steps.

She thought this all was general foolishness, but then things shifted out of focus and she wondered at her odds of being able to escape his room without anyone seeing her the following morning.

She didn’t want to see Delvin’s face when he found out and she had to watch all the money from the pool, that had been running ever since she’d stepped foot in the Ratways, disappear right into his traitorous pockets.

She was going to be out some gold.


End file.
